Practical Magic
by ipwolfism
Summary: A Teen Wolf AU inspired by a twist on Practical Magic. Stiles and Lydia are siblings who's family is cursed. Any man they fall in love with is doomed to die. A young Stiles crafts a spell for an impossible love so that he will never now the pain of heart break. He asked for a man brave of spirit but soft at his core, with eyes that always changed, and for him to be a werewolf.
1. Chapter 1

It started with a curse. Hundreds of years ago, a witch nearly hanged was left to escape with a jaded heart. One that was so bitter she swore she would never feel the pain of heart break again. Her lover was the reason she ended up with a noose around her neck, even with a child growing in her womb. The longer her days alone became, the more her heart ache grew until her plea against love became a curse, one that would pass down her family line for generations. Any man that dare love them, was doomed to die.

"So that's what took my parents," Stiles mumbled into the covers. Talking to himself was really the least of his worries. He sobbed until the blankets were damp, clutching them up around his chin. The curse took his father, and his mother… she couldn't live with the pain. That left her two young children alone. Lydia bounced back easier, or at least she was better at faking it. Stiles couldn't though, and that was why he was curled up alone, crying until the darkness pulled him under.

The light outside the attic window had faded completely by the time he regained consciousness. He could hear Lydia, 'Aunt' Morell, and 'Uncle' Alan shuffling in a fluster downstairs. He curled up tighter, pulling the blankets over his head. Maybe if he was really still he could use his magic and just be invisible. It was moot though. Lydia could always find him.

He could feel her, magic filling the room, long before he saw her. Then his eyes were clammed shut, faining sleep. Still his breathing wasn't even, and his muscles too tense to actually be sleeping. As if that wasn't enough, fooling a witch isn't exactly easy, especially one that has known him all his life (well all except a year but that was spend in diapers so it doesn't really count). The springs on the bed popped and whined as she climbed in. Nested under the comforter, he felt it as soon as the heat of her breath added to his own. Slowly the soft pad of a finger tip running down the bridge of his nose. "Wake-y wake-y sleepy head," her voice hardly above a whisper.

The last time he had tried to ignore her, it had been a bucket of ice water on his head. Lydia doesn't take no for an answer. His eyes opened to find waves of strawberry blond hair pooling around him. She smiled widely "There is a woman downstairs," mischief sparked like flames behind her eyes. "She wants a spell."

Both children, far too curious for their own good, scrabbled down the hall peering their faces through the banisters at the top of the stairs. Lydia had a tight grip on Stiles the whole way there, making sure her brother didn't slip back into his hide out. She had a knack for looking out for her big brother, and mostly Stiles was grateful for it.

From their vantage, they could see a small woman huddled at the kitchen table. Sobs racked her body, and tussled curls fell around to curtain her warm tan face. "He left us," her voice cracking with nearly each word "Me and Scott… and I …" she cut off in a heavy whimper. Shaking hands came up to brush back her long hair, causing the sleeves of her pale blue scrubs to bunch around her shoulders. "I just want it to stop hurting."

It didn't matter that he was only eleven, or that he knew nothing of romantic love, losing his parents hit too close to home. "I never want to fall in love…" and hot tears began to stream down his cheeks again.

— —

Small pale hands clutched a wooden bowl, magic clouding the atrium. His aunt and uncle were long since asleep, but the evening's events still played too loudly in his head. "What'cha doin'?" Lydia asked, jumping up on the table Stiles was so focused on.

"A love spell," he answered as he tossed in pieces of the spell. He continued, driven as always, and undeterred by her presence. "He'll be strong and brave, but underneath have a kind heart. His eyes multi colored and ever changing. His mark….," he lifted up a wooden talisman and dropped it in the bowl "A triskele." He runs his hands through the mix of rose petals and herbs "And he'll be a werewolf."

Lydia chimes in "But werewolves aren't real, Stiles." Lifting the bowl he walked out onto the terrace, and held it up towards the moon.

"That's the point. He doesn't exist, and if he doesn't exist then I can never fall in love." The mix in the bowl floated up as if under the influence of some unseen wind. "And I can never die of a broken heart."

— —

Six years later

Faint laughter could be heard from the upstairs window. The bedroom next door was Lydia's, and she already told Stiles her plan. Still he couldn't sit there, silently on his bed as his sister slips out into the night. Bare feet nearly recoiled as they touched the cold hard wood floor, and carried him to her. "So you're really leaving?" he asked, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway of her bedroom.

She looked up from where she was shoving clothes recklessly into a small suitcase. "I can't stay here." Her lips were drawn, though he can see a spark of life behind her eyes that hadn't been there since they were children. Shrugging she turned back to the bag.

"I just… I don't…," he fumbles around his words huffing, which is pretty much par for the course. "I'm going to miss you." On cue she drops the shirt in her hands into the bag, and crosses the small room. His arms wrap around her without hesitation, burying his face in the soft curls cascading over her shoulder. "It feels like I'm never going to see you again." Tears burn in the back of his eyes as he tries to hold it together.

"Don't be ridiculous. You aren't getting rid of me that easy." She presses her cheek into the crown of his head. The warm sandalwood smell that permeates her whole being fills his senses. Will it cling to his skin when she is gone? The bond that they share was all he's ever known. She was the one with a million friends; she was the one that went through boyfriends faster than he could learn their names; but she was his sister and no matter what he loved her.

"But Jackson?" he asks, crinkling his nose. At that she giggles.

"He's leaving for London in the morning."

"Yeah but it's Jackson."

She just shakes her head "I love him, Stiles. You know that." His lips draw in a straight line and he starts to open his mouth to speak again. "I know," she says, cutting him off "But Beacon Hills has nothing for me, not now." She grabbed his hands, wrapping her own around them no matter how much smaller they were. "Don't worry. We're gonna grow old together. I promised remember." From her side table she pulled out a bone dagger.

Stiles watched frozen, stunned, part of him knew and he doesn't have the will to stop her. The magic was already palpable in the night air. The sharpened edge slices through her palm. "My blood." She motions the fingers tips of her bloodied hand. He answers without hesitation, placing his hand in her grasp. The dagger drags hot across his palm. The flash of pain draws all thought from his mind. "Your blood," her words cut through the mind laps. The dagger clatters to the floor as she pressed their palms together "Our blood."

— —


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles sat at his laptop, and flipped through web pages willing himself to pay more attention and failing. "Stiles," but he was too lost in his head to hear it. He pressed his knuckles to his lips. He wasn't really sure where the train of thought was taking him. Flicking through chem classes, and a couple detentions he would rather forget. Then that was the thing, he wasn't forgetting, but why? "Stiles did you hear me?!"

His head snapped back and met the gaze of his best friend. Scott gave him that irritated head tilt, the one that said 'You haven't heard a word I said'. Wide eyed Stiles fumbled, the chair rocking with him "What?" Still his mind was persistent, swamping him. A question he could only half remember 'Do you find…' something, but- He stood up as the computer chair clattered to the floor.

"Stiles what are you doing?" He took a step forward towards the door "Wait dude where are you going?"

"There is something I have to do…" He trailed off, struggling to get a pair of shoes on. All the while he had no idea where his body was leading him, or just what his mind was puzzling through. Not bothering to give a better explanation, cause honestly there wasn't one, he thudded down the stairs stopping loudly in the landing.

"Stiles honey?" Aunt Morell poked her head around the partition to the living room. "Where do you think you're going?" The smirk on her face should have made Stiles wary, but his head was too full to think of anything else. He blinked a few times.

"Uh there's uh," he stammered, not sure enough to give an honest answer.

"Something you need to do?" He nodded. "Well don't let me stop you." With that he was out the door. His stroll up the side walk quickly turned to a run. One that stole the breath from his lungs, and made his muscles ache. All the same he bolted towards the center of town, ran even after his body told him to stop. He should have felt the magic in it, the way it pulled at his cells like a moth to the flame. It was stronger than he was though, much stronger.

He did start to slow though and eventually came to a stop in front of a figure just slightly taller than himself. Everything seemed to click. "Danny," he said breathlessly.

"You asked me a question once…"

"Um I did?" he flushed

"The answer is yes." Stiles didn't wait another second. He all but leaps from the ground and into Danny's arms. Like centrifugal motion, he collided with the other boy and found soft lips pressed to his.

— —

_Darling Stiles,_

_What can I say. London didn't last, but I'm sure you knew that. I was never one to be tied down for long. Jackson got himself into a mess, and decide to be a prick instead of ask for help. Whatever, it doesn't matter. I'm over him. I'm in South Beach now. Not so far from home. Working on my tan, and oh Stiles the boys here. You'd love them. They're very no strings attached. Oh if I could see your face when I tell you this… None of them matter. There is only one thing I really have to say to you._

_Peter Hale._

Stiles laid down in the nook of Danny's arms. Shaking his head slightly as she detailed her dark, mysterious new boy toy. He wondered just how long this one would last. After all she hadn't been in London more than two months. Then what a difference such a short time could make. "Any news?" the sweet baritone voice above him asked. With a sweet smile he turned to face his boyfriend.

"Oh you know, same old same old," he waved his hand slightly "Lydia's trolling for men." Danny smiled, nonjudgmental as ever. He was really a good guy, kind but strong. So much of what Stiles wanted, but never let himself have. "She seems to think I might enjoy it." He shifted swinging a leg over so he was straddling Danny. "But I'm pretty happy where I am."

"Just pretty happy?" he said with this witty little smile on his lips, one that pulled his gorgeous dimples to the surface. Stiles hand comes up to cup his face, and ran a finger down his soft cheek.

"If you think you can make me happier then by all means," he teased. "I just don't think that's possible." Leaning forward, he pressed a hungry kiss to Danny's lips, and tangled his fingers in his dark hair. He pulled back for the briefest moment to look into those rich dark eyes. "I love you."

And he was blind, too blind to see that the next kiss, the one soft and tender on his boyfriend's lips, was the very thing he tried to avoid his whole life. The kiss of death. So instead, he held him close, feeling the warm spill over his skin, bathing in the sunshine that was Danny. "I love you, too," he answered breathlessly. All Stiles could feel was bliss. His hands snake up Danny's v-neck wanting nothing more than for this moment to never end.

— —

In the end, it couldn't last forever. Stiles heard the beetle ticking all day, and he knew. The sound of the death watch beetle, it means the man you love is about to die. He just didn't know what he could do about it. Not Danny. This couldn't happen to him, it couldn't. Except that it could, and in fact would just be another in a long line of tragic deaths in their family. Panic runs through his veins, burning hot adrenaline. He researched, no web page unvisited, no page of the thousands of magical books in their house unturned. Something had to be able to break the curse before it was too late. When the ticking stopped, he wondered if maybe just maybe the threat was over, but no sooner than the thought passed through his might did he hear the door down stairs crash open.

He tripped over himself as he scrambled from the library to the front room. Scott came to him clutching his side with one hand, Danny cradled in the other. His best friend hardly makes it through the door before he collapses into a heap. "Stiles, I didn't know where else to go," he panted, clearly in pain. "You're a witch. Maybe you can help him."

Black blood seeped from his lips, trailing down his sweet face. 'NO! Not Danny.' Stiles pulled him into his arms, and weak lidded eyes looked up at him. "W-w-wh-what happened?" he stammers as he pushes hair back from where it's matted with sweat to Danny's face. He could feel his own body start to shake.

"There was a wolf…" Scott eye contact with Danny didn't break when Scott spoke, nor when Morell walked in.

"A wolf or a werewolf?" she asked, her tone not revealing anything.

"Uh. Yeah a-uh werewolf I think."

"I don't care what it was!" Stiles shouted. "What's happening to him?!" He held Danny a little tighter to his chest when his boyfriend groaned. His shaking hands brushed over sweat covered skin, and blood starts to flow from his nose. Stiles held extended fingers reaching out like he could stop it, but nothing happens. Danny was still fighting to push out each breath as if his chest was caving in, fighting to even hold his eyes open.

"We were both bitten," Scott said as he leaned against the wall beside Stiles.

"If the bite doesn't kill you it turns you," Morell's tone was still unwaveringly calm.

"If?"


	3. Chapter 3

The sun soaked paint of the black Camaro bleeds heat into Derek's skin as he leans against it. It's early afternoon and school isn't out for another two hours but today is special, and not in a Christmas break kind of way. The last time this happened was when he came bolting out the double doors and caving into Laura's arms… but she isn't here now.

Cora walks calmly down the white washed steps, so opposed to how he took such news at her age, but then she doesn't know and back then he had already heard the rumors. Her expression drops the moment their eyes meet, and in reaction he drops his eyes to his feet. Their family is too small already and he doesn't want to do this. Still he has no choice. Loss is too familiar of a feeling, and it seems that Hale's have a six sense for it. "Der?" He can feel the warmth pool off her body from just how close she is, but he doesn't look up.

"Laura." It's the name on his lips and the only word he can bring his mouth to form.

"No." He finally looks up when she speaks. Tears are causing her warm hazel eyes to shimmer like the surface of a lake on a windy day. She continues to repeat that same one syllable louder and louder until she's pounding with clawed fists on his chest demanding he do something. "You became a cop for a reason, Derek!" her screams cause his ears to ache. "Do something."

"It's not that simple, Cor. I'm trying," his voice is shaking even for all his effort to remain calm. "Because it's Peter… my hands are tied."

"Well if you won't then I will."

— —

"You bring him back!" Stiles' screams can be heard through out the whole house. His only solution is to stand there in their kitchen and fight, scream, beg until he gets his way. Yes it's juvenile, but he couldn't care less. "Please," he begs. "I know you're strong enough." By this point his is shaking, tears and stress painting his face bright red.

"It wouldn't be Danny," Morell says softly as she steps forward attempting to comfort her nephew. He jerks away from the gentle touch. It is action he wants not solace.

"We never knew it would come to this," Alan adds.

"I don't care! I just wan-" he stopped, and he nearly whips his head around, brows furrowed and stares at his Uncle.

"We just wanted you to be happy. We never thought you would actually love him," his aunt finishes the thought. Words refused to find Stiles' lips. For the first time in his life Stiles is speechless. Hands rack through his hair and the wail that rips out of his throat makes the flesh ache raw. The scream pours through the empty apartment he had shared with his lover, filling the holes with his pain where there had been happiness. Palms press deeper into his temples. A thousand questions tumble through his mind, but not one would pass over his tongue. It is as though the very room is spinning.

"Stiles?" there is a hand on his shoulder, but he doesn't have the focus to even pull away. They did this to him and now his one chance at happiness is gone, just like his mother when she lost his father. It caves in around him black and horrible, consuming his body and the world grows numb.

— —

It could have been a few hours or a few days, but all Stiles can see, can even remember seeing for as far back as he allows himself to recall, is the interlocking striped pattern on his comforter. Even with his head under the blanket he can see the yellow light of the summer sun shining through on his face. He doesn't want the warmth of it though. If he could have it his way he would feel nothing at all. Life doesn't work that way though. When he closes his eyes, it's tan skin and sweet dimples that meet his minds eye. Bitter sweet and gone… and it's entirely his fault. Danny is dead because he loved him.

'Strong, brave, triskele, werewolf,' words echo though his mind. A spell long forgotten, and to him a promise never to fall in love. He can feel a darkness twisting around his heart and oh how it aches.

"Get your ass out of bed." His body jumps to a start. That voice, he knows that voice. It's the one that got him to move when he was drowning in grief after the loss of his parents… of their parents. Timidly his head peeks out from his safe haven of down feathers and warm. He isn't disappointed. There in the doorway is a cascade of strawberry blond curls and a smile he forgot how much he missed.

"But you were in Malibu.. How did you-?"

"Scott called." At that she is grabbing him by the ankle and unceremoniously pulling him out of the bed. "And I don't ask twice."

— —

The pair walks down the streets of Beacon Hills. In all her dolled up glory, Lydia actually managed to get her brother dressed, and -in her humble opinion- looking at least half way presentable. Stiles is always kind of a work in progress, forever the challenge. Then, the red head is nothing if not a lover of a challenge. Not two hours back in town and she is already master minding a plan. Scott and Isaac are waiting for them at her favorite coffee shop, and she is going to get Stiles to smile before she heads back to Malibu if it kills her.

They are just outside of the coffee shop, Lydia focusing a little too much on how uncomfortably quiet Stiles is being, when a far too firm hand grabs her shoulder, twisting her around before she can fight the effort. "Where is he?" the voice is a low growl, a literal growl. Standing in front of her is another girl. She looks to be about the same age as them. Pin straight mahogany hair frames her angular face. Lydia has to admit there's something familiar about the other girl, something she can't quite put her finger on.

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," her words are sharp enough to cut, but the brunette doesn't back down.

"Please," she snaps "Don't play dump, his scent is all over you!" Lydia only blinks once, a fraction of a second of darkness, and the strange girl is in her face. "If you're lying to me to protect him," she is close, breathing hot air down Lydia's neck. Her brows arch as she pauses dramatically, eyes flaring a bright yellow. "I will pull your tongue out of your pretty little head."

"Sweetheart," Lydia finger tips catching in the girl's shoulder pushing her back. After months spent fending off Peter, dosing him with wolf's bane just so she can get a descent night's sleep "You don't scare me." From the corner of her eye she can see how Stiles has gone ridged.

In a flash of fangs and fur, Isaac and Scott are standing by her side snarling. What teeters the tension from stare down to all out fight she can't place, but the boys are at the other wolf's throat dragging her away from Lydia. Her eyes really aren't fast enough to trace the fight. They are far too hot headed. She glances around the empty street but knows the slightest change in the scene could make a bad situation worse. Still she doesn't know what to do to break them apart. Once wolves get started it's hard to stop them, witch or not.

"STOP!" the boom of a voice, the unexpected shift in the air, has the hairs on the back of her arms raising. Stiles is red in the face and breathing hard. There is an intensity in his eyes that she never thought she would see again. He is protecting them, his wolves, albeit from themselves but all the same there is a drive behind him. That… that's better than a smile and she knows it.

— —

'_I'm trying Lydi, I really am. I didn't know one person could hurt this much. Every day I feel like it might consume me. He didn't deserve this, but maybe I do. At least maybe I do for causing his life to fall so short. This curse.. I'm not strong enough. Oh how I loved him. Yet I feel I have no tears left to cry. Inside I am hollow and broken. The apartment we shared together, I can't face it. So where am I? Living back at home with our aunt and uncle. _

_Some nights I sit out on the roof and stare up at the sky. I know now that there is so much more power behind that moon than I ever knew. Werewolves. Who could have guessed? I mean magic is one thing, but I never expected… It doesn't matter though. I have a pack now, not something I ever knew I wanted. Scott and Isaac, they are like brothers to me, and yet they can never replace you. _

_I know all too well that there is something missing. Something that makes my chest heave with that familiar anxiety. Against all odds I dream of love. It burns in my chest… like a panic attack. I want so much to be whole, to not want. I just want someone to love me. Then maybe Danny was my happiness. _

_Still, there is no man Lydi. Only that moon.'_

_He can sense her before the phone rings, and the moment the music chimes he bolts from his bed. Something is wrong and he knows it. It doesn't matter that she asks him to drive across the state to get her. She is his sister and there is nothing he wouldn't do for her. _

_Behind the wheel of his beat up Jeep he can see the full moon glowing behind the paned glass, something he now knows is to be wary of. He doesn't stop for his small pack. After all he can handle bringing his sister home on his own._


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles didn't expect an ambush, mostly because Lydia failed to mention that her psycho boyfriend is a werewolf. The only reasoning behind it, that Stiles can find, is that she was trying to protect him. Being that Danny's death was purely because of a wolf it isn't a stretch that her brother might be bias. Then Scott is a wolf now and Stiles is very much a 'judge not a book by it's cover' type.

Peter though, his cover is what is appealing about him, but get a taste at the interior and you have a whole different story on your hands. Not that Stiles actually knew any of that until about five minutes ago, and seriously if they make it out of this crap alive he is going to have a full discretion agreement with Lydia -maybe even a screening process for all her dates-, cause he is officially in way over his head.

From the corner of his eye, Stiles watches helplessly as Peter's hand glides up her thigh. He talks about how she is special and beautiful, yet is treating her like little more than a broken doll. It's not hard to see the effects of it in her eyes. The fading of the strength that once burned bright, and the hopeful longing for love? Well that seems to be all but eradicated. Stiles can't do it. He can't sit there any longer and watch that man, this beast, break his sister.

His body shifts, just slightly but she must see the change. Her eyes catch his. "Get the wolf's bane," she whispered softly, using her magic so that only her brother can hear "It's in my bag." He can feel how the rage twists under his skin, draws his brows to a tight furrow, but he has a outlet now. If he can just get to the wolf's bane, and get it in Peter's system they can get away. Stiles does well with a plan, following some structure, having a goal.

Each second ticks by slowly through heavy air. As he breaths in and out, it stretches at tight lungs, and it's all he can to to keep his body from shaking. Lydia is wedged in between the two bucket seats, her body contorted awkwardly as Peter continues to paw at her in his moon drunk state. "Did we really have to all shove in my piece of crap Jeep?" he asks too loud, trying for all he is worth to draw attention from where his right hand slides between himself and his sister.

His eyes shift over, meeting the wolf's who arches a brow and rolls his eyes. Fishing into the bag Stiles finds his target, crushing the herb in his hand. In one fluid motion he draws from the bag and pressing his palm flush with Lydia's, passing off their salvation. It's subtle, he won't notice her actions if he wasn't watching her so closely. Not just that, but he can see how she is using her magic to shield herself, a veil around her hazed in disorientation.

The air hitches in the back of his throat. His chest doesn't rise or fall he simply waits as he watches her put the herb in her own mouth before snaking a hand around the nap of Peter's neck. Their mouths met with parted lips, and it brings bile rising to even watch. Stiles' gaze flips back to the open road. This is it, if this doesn't work… well he doesn't know what he'll do. Drive the Jeep off the next bridge and hope for the best?

There is a switch. Lydia's back is pushed harder into his right arm. Flailing, she squawks trying to get away from him. Glowing red eyes cut through the darkness, Peter is more animal than human. At that Stiles jerks the steering wheel, nearly crashing the Jeep as he pulls on to the road's shoulder. The gravel growls a protest as they roll to a stop. Even in the darkness, Stiles can see a flash of glistening teeth, and he'll be damned if he is going to let that bastard bite his sister. Ripping off his seat belt, he launches himself with a selfless kind of wreak-less abandonment.

It's all to no avail. Before Stiles can even blink, Peter has them both pinned underneath him. The man is stronger than anyone, anything, Stiles has ever seen. Well at least physically. The magic that flows in the young man's veins keeps him fighting. He squirms under the heavy weight. Claws dig into his shoulder, breaking through the all too human flesh. The heat of his own blood trails down his thin arms. "You know I've never bitten twins before…" there is a cold calculation in his voice as he edges closer.

He is so not prepared for this, and why, exactly, is the wolf's bane having no effect? 'Oh my god! Has she given him so much he is immune?!' he idly thinks, which only rising a frantic kind of panic. It drives his actions forward, brings his shaking fist to collide with the side of Peter's head. He puts not only every ounce of his physical strength -which compared to the beast isn't much- but combines with it as much of his essence, his magic, as he can without passing out.

Peter slumps, but Stiles doesn't stop. In fact, he continues to fling blows into his chest and head, terrified that it won't be enough, that any moment the wolf will leap forward and end him. It's Lydia's scream that finally causes him pause. It's blood curdling and brings the hairs on the back of his arms to rise. He turns to face her. Tear tracks are streaming down the delicate curve of her cheeks. His hand finds her's, and she gasps for air. "We gave him too much." It's then that he see how blood is pooled around dip in her neck, fang shape divots tarnishing the ivory skin. Stiles can find no remorse in his action.

— —

That is the first night she dreams of him, if you can even call it that. She falls into the the sheets of her childhood bed, dirt from his shallow grave embedded under perfect nails, and sleep envelops her instantly. However it is anything but restful. It is darkness that surrounds her, and the only thing that cuts through, that tells her she isn't drowning in tar, a brilliant red. It calls to her, like it was made for her and her alone. Tendrils of shadow curling around her skin are both comforting and off putting. She wants to run but her body ignores the desire. Each action, each step, is not her own. It is as though her body doesn't even belong to her any longer. Something outside is controlling her, compelling her.

It's then that she feels it, phantom pain… no real pain, twisting up her arm, and her hand? It feels like it's on fire. She wakes up screaming. The force behind it is so great that it brings tears to her eyes. Standing at the foot of her bed is her aunt. Worry, fatigue, even fear color her features. The sheets are twisted around her legs and pinning her arms to her side. It takes some effort but she wriggles herself free. She isn't however rewarded for her actions. Pale lilac cotton is stained red… with her own blood.

— —

Stiles waited for days, called Scott about nineteen times, and worried -after all the dull roar of panic isn't exactly unfamiliar-. Much to his surprise Lydia is both alive and still human, or as human as the pair of them ever has been. No blood black, no fangs, and no glowing yellow eyes. He doesn't know if he should be relived or freak out more. Maybe witches are immune, but then does the buck actually stop there.

Regardless, it's nice having his sister home, but her behavior at breakfast paired with the mysterious disappearance of their aunt and uncle… well it's enough to put him on edge. That and killing a werewolf, can't forget that little tidbit. That is why he jumps at the forceful knocking on the front door. At least that's the story he is going to tell, not that he will actually admit to his moment of cowardice.

Recomposing himself, Stiles leans up on his toes and looks through the peep hole. The man on the other side is a stranger, even if he is a tall, dark and handsome one. His skin is almost olive tone, and the line of scruff on his jaw line only adds to his attractive, yet sharp features. Opening the door, he says "Hi, can I help you?" he doesn't keep the edge of snark out of his tone.

If the man is off-put he doesn't show it. There are things to be said for having a good poker face. "I'm looking for Peter Hale."

'Shit' He doesn't allow himself to panic though, not yet. "And you are?" he bites back, holding on to the false bravado for all it's worth. Crossing his arms across his chest, he blocks out the door as best he can. He's pretty sure that if mister mysterious wants in, Stiles would be no true obstacle.

The brunette shifts, pulling something out of his pocket. "Derek," he says, producing a shiny law enforcement badge. "Deputy Derek Hale." He looks Stiles straight in the eyes, brows drawn and a slight frown touching the corners of his lips.

'Double shit,' because now he is a hundred and ten percent sure he is totally screwed. The sheer bulk of the man in front of him should be intimidating, not to mention the fact the there could be a looming murder investigation, but still when Derek steps forward Stiles doesn't move… at least not right away. They hover in the door way, far to close for strangers. There is a kind of electric buzz being this near to the cop. It makes Stiles' head spin, and right as there chests are about to touch, he caves stepping backward into the house and letting Derek follow.

A steady hand pulls out a piece of paper from the file he is carrying. Derek sets it on the table and slides it towards Stiles. "That's what he is capable of." Stiles regrets it the instant he looks down. The image is of a young woman, as best he can tell, but she has been shredded, torn in half.

"Oh my god," Stiles exclaims, shoving the image out of his face. "Dude, I can't do blood. Seriously," he clinches, covering his mouth with his hand making garbling noises "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Derek grabs his arm, snarling through his teeth "This isn't a game." The pressure on the still healing claw marks is too much. He isn't proud of it, but he yelps trying to pull back. The action only makes the pain worse and he caves into the fold of Derek's elbow. His face is drawn tight and his eyes pinched closed. The grip loosens almost instantly. It's too late to stop the soft ache of what will surely be bruises on the back of his upper arm.

He stands there frozen, staring into pale green eyes. Maybe he should back down, cower away, but he stands his ground, even straightens his spine ever so slighty. It brings him face to face with sharp cheek bones and dark stubble. He is close enough to feel the warmth that clings to Derek's skin. Air catches in his chest and the soft thud of his heart picks up enough that he swears he can feel it drumming against his ribs. Maybe he should be scared, but Stiles has never really reacted in the way he should.

He doesn't miss how Derek is glancing back and forth between his eyes and his mouth, or how his hand is still on him though the grip has loosened considerably. Then it isn't exactly subtle. While the witch might not exactly be the expert of flirting, Derek's actions aren't hard not to read as such. If it weren't for the aggressive edge around him, Stiles would swear that he has a crush.

The moment is shattered before he really has an opportunity to take it in. Derek all but stumbles backward putting as large a gap between them as possible in just a few short seconds. Collecting the picture from the table he leaves without another word.


	5. Chapter 5

The big white house looms in front of him. It hadn't seemed so absolutely massive the last time he was here. He doesn't even make it to the first run on the steps before two teenage boys are leaping the banisters to block his path. They crouched down, snarling and snapping their teeth. Derek can't miss the defensive and very much protective nature of their stance. "If you think you're going another step closer, you're sorely mistaken," the one with a mop of curly blond hair snaps as he snaps his fangs. His eyes burn a bright yellow. The smaller boy jumps to land next to him, claws extended.

Instinct takes over, his wolf growling as he feels his features shift away from the human side. Blue eyes ignited, fangs descended, and claws ready for the action. The three of them stand there snarling at an impasse. Derek won't move first. This is unknown territory. Sure he'll defend himself but even with teeth bared, initiating the action is a terrible idea.

"You're not going to hurt him again," the smaller boy snarls and lunges. It's no longer a matter of preventing a fight but surviving it. A claw nicks his cheek as he dodges out of the way. The second body collides at his waist, knocking off his center of balance. His rib cage hits hard against the ground. He scrambles trying to recover his stance, letting out a rumbling growl and baring his teeth in the process.

Two against one, this isn't a fair first. However it's the two inexperienced pups that are at a disadvantage. As Derek stands, he rears back his head before head-butting the blond. The force rattles his mind, but he is steadfast. Endurance is always on his side. Grabbing a hold of the thicket of dark hair he brings the other boy's head to come crashing into the side of the pouch.

"Scott," the blond screams, worry clearly driving his action as he stands. Scott slumps into the dust, staring up at Derek still with glowing golden eyes.

Pain. It strikes him out of no where, like eclectic current running up his spine. His knees buckle and he caves to the ground. Heaving in each breath is all but impossible. He howls through clenched teeth but it is the last piece of his wolf that can break to the surface. His body writhes, muscles clinch as if by sheer force of will he can find peace from the current. His eyes flutter and he catches a glimpse of flaming red hair moving towards him.

"Stop," the voice is muffled in his mind,masculine, almost tender but some how familiar.

"Stop it now," this one different and with a slight growl. He knows the low gravel in her tone as well as he knows his own. It does stop though. Hooded eyes slowly open taking in the scene.

His eyes find Cora. She is standing beside Stiles, in between himself and the two young wolves with the red head who must be a witch. It's not that Cora is allying herself with a human to stop the fight that shocks him. No there is something much more surprising staring back at him. His little sister looks back at him with bright red eyes. The confusion brings him to find the strength to stand. "Did you kill him?" he asks before thinking of the implication.

She simply shakes her head. "No, but he must be dead. It passed to me, like it did to Laura."

— —

Isaac thumps through the book of shadows. Stiles once told him that the book had been in the family for generations, dating back to the 'family curse' he had told them about. The two werewolves sat and watched as Lydia mixed together a cocktail of werewolf disaster; wolf's bane, mountain ash, and what Scott had asked if it was 'really mistletoe?' To that the witch simply nodded. "If we can't take him directly, I'll be damned if we aren't protecting ourselves, and more importantly my naive little brother." The dark circles under her eyes were growing with intensity everyday, and Isaac told himself it was likely just her worry about the appearance of a new pack. After all Cora and Derek were a threat by default.

Most of the pages of the book are littered with symbols and written in a language he doesn't understand, but one stands out. It's scripted in what appears to be a child's hand writing. He runs his fingers over the ink on the age worn parchment.

"What is this?" he asks reading over the spell. Etched at the top of the page is a crud little symbol, three interlocked spirals. Below are a list of traits 'Strong, brave, kind of heart,' but one stands out 'werewolf'.

"Oh that?" Lydia sets the wood spoon she has been stirring with down, letting the pot simmer. "Stiles wrote it then we were really little. It's a love spell."

"About Danny?" Scott chimes in but the more Isaac looks at the traits the less that theory fits.

"Uh…. no. I don't think Stiles ever expected to fall for Danny," she turns back to the pot, drawing out the clear purple potion into a baster. "You see he created that little spell to protect himself. He thought that if his perfect love didn't exist he could never fall in love, and he would never die like our mother did." She starts to fish around in drawers and cabinets. Scott leans in, one hand on his shoulder and reads the spell. The other wolf meets his gaze and they hold it for a moment before rereading the traits yet again.

"I think the vials are in the kitchen," Lydia says drawing his attention back from the book.

As soon as she is out of the room, Isaac points down as the spell. "Does this not sound like a certain new werewolf in town?"

Scott nods reluctantly but still says "Do you think it really could be him?"

— —

More than likely this is a bad idea. A painfully horrible bad idea. Still he has a pretty good idea that he can get the answers he has been waiting. Werewolf crap has infiltrated his life, and he might as well figure it all out before it gets a thousand times worse. At least that's why he is telling himself he seeks Derek out. Truth be told Cora is just as easy to find, and maybe even a little more level headed, if only just. After all she had helped him to keep them from killing each other. Still he wasn't sure why he cared.

When he closed his eyes all he could see were those bright green orbs staring back at him. Intense, there was no other way to describe Derek Hale. Yes, Hale. As if that wasn't disturbing enough, they were both wolves. Stiles knew better than to brush off the connection. The fact that Derek showed up at his door asking about Peter made it a pattern. To say Stiles is scared that there is a werewolf police officer clearly related to the man -or rather monster- he killed is unnerving is a gross understatement. Yet here he is, each heavy padded step carrying him up to Derek's hotel room.

He fists his trembling hand, swallowing down his nerves, worry and most of all his confusion; and knocks.

The door is jerked open and the bulk of dark werewolf is standing on the other side. His brow furrows as he looks Stiles up and down. "Did you kill him?" Derek all but barks. Even in his obvious anger, he still holds this kind of stoic air to him. Stiles coughs out in surprise, stepping back a little.

"Well hello to you too. Oh and you're welcome for saving your furry ass from my sister," he snaps back. Derek grips his wrist pulling him inside. As he slams the door closed his pushes Stiles into it.

"Did you kill him?!" he asks again with more force. The low growl in his throat should make Stiles fearful. It would for any sane person.

"What if I did?! Is it really such a tragedy that the world is short a monster like Peter?" he can feel the emotion, the drive to protect his sister, and something he can't place driving him.

Derek leans closer "So being a werewolf makes him a monster?" Stiles' shirt is fisted in a clawed hand that is wedged between them. There chests heaving into one another as they both pull in staggered breaths.

"No being a sociopath makes him a monster. The werewolf thing is actually-" the cold of steel door he is pressed up against seeps deeper into his skin. The words lock in his throat as the shock of their closeness crashes around him. Derek doesn't say a word. He hovers much closer in Stiles' personal space than he is used to. Then Scott and Isaac tend to get closer than most. So he lets himself think that maybe it's just a werewolf thing. That doesn't stop how he feels his skin flush, heat pouring into his cheeks.

Staring into Derek's eyes he watches them shift, green to a bright blue. Even still his features grow softer, there is something behind his wolfish eyes, Stiles thinks. The hand at his chest lets go of the thin fabric and finds it's way to cup his cheek. A small gasp escapes Stiles' lips. He can feel himself slipping, falling under. It's like looking up from underneath the surface of the sea. He is drowning but it's peaceful below the tide. The waves crash and break over his head, but all he can think is that he doesn't want Derek to let him go… ever!

Stiles finger tips ghost up Derek's spine. The subtle shiver, one that draws the wolf closer to him, is enough to have the teenage witch arching pressing their chests flush. It should be more of a choice, but he has found a moment of silence in his ever working mind. He doesn't know who moves first, but their mouths collide. Derek's lips are velvet and wet. Stiles whimpers quietly into the wolf's mouth. Paws at him, wanting nothing more than to be closer, than to give in.

Except that's exactly what he can't do. His eyes flash open in the realization. He could so easily fall for this man -and maybe he already is- and that's not an option. Stiles has seen first hand the effects of the curse. His fingertips catch in Derek's shoulder and he pushes him back. "I-I- can't-… I have to go."

Panicked Stiles, fumbles out of the door. His hair is a tangled mess, lips bright red and swollen, disheveled clothes twisted around his thin form, and all he can think is that he is simultaneously making the biggest mistake of his life and doing the one thing he knows is right. If Derek wasn't plaguing his thoughts before, he certainly will be now


	6. Chapter 6

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Isaac asks warily, but he knows it's too late to back out now. Every muscle in his body is tense. He has met exactly one alpha in his life and that left quite the impression. The man had been little more than a brute. Isaac was small, flail, already dotted with bruises and black eyes. The Alpha was a giant. He towered over Isaac. It hadn't been a good idea to go out alone. Ripping and tearing at Isaac's legs as he grappled the young boy to the ground. Scott had said it was much the same as the attack on him and Danny. Isaac took it harder though, it weighed on him. Instead of becoming his betas, he and Scott became their own pseudo-pack. Ennis, what he came to learn was the Alpha's name later, left town and they had to learn this new life together.

They had Stiles too. It was an odd little cluster, but in it Isaac found something he never knew how much he wanted; family. In the end that is why they are standing in front of Cora's door, and if she really is an Alpha she's already heard them. Scott just shrugs. "What other choice do we have? I mean Lydia still wants to kill him and we can't exactly go to Stiles with this." He's right, of course he is, but that doesn't mean that Isaac has to like it.

"I get it. Our options are severely limited. It's just …" he pauses and starts to whisper, hoping he is quiet enough. "She's kind of surly." At that the hotel room door swings open with enough force to make the timid boy jump, which admittedly wouldn't take too much. The door crashes into the adjacent wall and sends him shuffling backward as Cora eyes them up and down.

"What are you two doing here?" Her body is tense, and her expression nearly impossible to read outside of the obvious irritation. Isaac cowers wide eyed behind Scott, because he is not about to answer her.

Scott steps forward holding the book of shadows "There is something we need to show you."

Cora is reluctant to let them in, but then she doesn't have much more of a reason to trust them than they do her. For all intents and purposes the trio are strangers. Then this isn't for them. Stiles is the one that helped both Scott and himself through this change even when he was grieving and didn't have any more of an idea what was going on than they did. Isaac feels like he owes him everything, but then this isn't about repaying a debt. As he suspects it isn't for Scott either. As dysfunctional and non-traditional as it is, they are a pack, and some how it is Stiles that holds them together. For once they are finally face to face with a chance to see his happiness.

They try to explain, but being that neither of them are witches it's a little muddled. Still for the most part Cora seems to follow.

"You're sure this is him?" she asks, arms cross and one brow raised. Her harsh edge hasn't faded from the moment they walked in.

"Your brother? I mean yeah we're pretty sure." Isaac is endlessly impressed with Scott's ability to hold on to that sweet puppy persona. It's not an act either.

Isaac glances at Scott with a dopey smile and shrugs "There's really no way for us to be positive but does it sound like him to you too?"

A frown graces her lips, one the blond wolf is coming to accept as a family trait, and she is silent. It makes him tense, the frustration and confusion pouring off her is palpable. Isaac isn't sure what to make of it. After what feels like forever she finally nods "Yeah, it's a little eerie honestly, and I'm not particularly keen on dealing with witches, but yeah… it does. The only part that really concerns me is the curse…" she says, her voice full of tension.

"I know. I'm not even sure it's-" Scott cuts off. "Let's just take this one step at a time. They both deserve to be happy right," at that both Cora and Isaac nod gingerly. "Well then let's help them get there." Cora is still visibly worried, but she stands up, insisting that she drives.

Twenty minutes later Cora is swinging off the leather jacket over her shoulders and sauntering up the stairs like she owns the place. Which ironically none of the three of them even live here. Still after Isaac turned he spent more time here than anywhere else, so in a way it does feel like home. When Ennis bit him, he killed his father and Isaac was left with nothing. Not that his father had ever been a great parental figure. Stiles was family, and that was most of his drive to pursue this Derek thing. "I'm still not exactly sure how you two expect to get Lydia on board with this. I mean less than an hour ago she was ready to smash a vial of werewolf death potion on the side of Derek's head-" he stops abruptly when Cora's demeanor changes.

She shifts her weight "Some thing's wrong." He and Scott hardly have a moment to exchange a confused look before they are having to race up the stairs after her. He finds himself wondering what the hell tripped her senses. He can't smell or hear anything, and from the confused look on Scott's face he wasn't any more in the know. Then Cora had been a wolf longer… maybe it's just that.

She beats them to the bedroom and is already sitting on the lavender bedding when they walk in. Cora runs a hand softly up the side of Lydia's arm. Her eyes dart back up to Isaac and he can see something unexpected painting in them; worry. "She smells like fear." Lydia's body is trembling, and Isaac can see how her eyes are shifting rapidly behind their lids. When the soft touch does nothing to rouse the witch, Cora presses with more force. Yet it's to no avail.

— —

A thick fog permeates the surroundings. It's so dense Lydia can hardly see her own hand in front of her face. There is a disconnect with the physical. She turns trying to get her barrings, trying to focus on something, and sees him. Mud mats his hair to his head, clings to his clothes and skin. His eyes are glazed over, near pure white, but somehow burning red underneath. The love she once felt for him is completely exorcised. All that remains is pain, fear, and rage.

Worms seep up from the disturbed ground and through his bare toes. She tries to squirm, but her body refuses to obey. It's as though she isn't in control. His voice echos in her mind. Bouncing off the inner walls of her brain, echoing, and threatening to drive her … mad. Then it's a little late for that.

Fingers twist through her hair, pull her closer. His lips meet hers and they are ice cold. "You are mine," he says in a shadowy whisper. Her eyes roll back in her head and she screams. A cold sweat dripping off her pale skin. It starts to rattle her being, forces her upright.

She sits up straight, screaming so hard her throat burns under the effort. Gasping for air she reaches is warmth pouring from a body close to her; warmth and power. Maybe Lydia should be afraid of the presence. After all the aura is strikingly familiar, but all the same she finds herself drawn. Caving forward, her head comes to rest on a sturdy collar bone and reluctant arms wrap around her. Sobs rack her body, and even breathing hurts.

The embrace is one that anchors the young witch, and surprisingly starts to tether her back to reality. Yet she can still feel him. It's like he is slithering just below her skin, seeping through her pores, waiting, just waiting for the right moment to strike. He is ever present and she hopes so feverishly that it is all in her mind that she refuses to admit otherwise, even to herself. If she didn't know better she would say Peter was a snake instead of a wolf, but the still healing bite and claw marks on her sides tell her otherwise.

Coriander, sage, and just the faintest hint of damp moss; it twists around her like an ethereal perfume. It is something new, but harkens to a connection deep inside her. The frame she wraps herself around is small and feminine. Yet there is a strength behind the delicate skin and small bones.

She feels another hand brush shaking over her shoulder. That energy signature she recognizes. "Scott?" she asks through a ragged voice. The hand pressed into the back of her neck, the one holding her to the shoulder she is all but crying on, doesn't move or loosen it's grip.

"Yeah it's me," he replies uneasy as he continues to hold the contact. She can feel how he is shaking, and the stilted glide of his hand across her back. Still she is grateful for the contact.


	7. Chapter 7

Lydia is up to something, that much he knows for sure. And Scott and Isaac? They're in cahoots with her. The two of them are far easier to read, and have had these sly little smiles planted on their faces for days. The very same one they are wearing as they edge up beside him. Stiles is perched firmly on the bar stool and despite Lydia trying to bribe him, he hasn't budged for an hour. Then that was three beers ago, and his resolve is fading.

Isaac wraps a hand around his wrist, and Scott does the same on the other side. "Come dance with us," Isaac says with a grin. Stiles would know this is an ambush, if his head wasn't swimming that is, but he smiles back at the dopey wolf.

"Fine," he says, staggering up from the stool. He slumped one of his arms around Scott's shoulder, trying his best to make it look like he wasn't using it to hold himself up. Yet the floor felt like it was wobbling under his feet. "Maybe a glass of water first?" he managed to slur out, but was met with Scott sliding an arm around his wrist defiantly.

"No, come on, please," he says with all the lack of slyness and puppy charm he is capably of.

"You promised," Isaac chimes in. The world is too foggy for Stiles to protest that he did no such thing. Instead he let the beat of the music slowly take him over, and hopes that he doesn't make too much of a fool of himself.

Once the crush of people is wrapped around them, Isaac and Scott shift and twisted until Stiles can't tell up from down. Both wolves keep creeping forward, pressing Stiles backward and farther into the crowd. The pulse and pressure of the people around him is all consuming. It wraps around him like a blanket, courses over his skin. Even with the buzz running through his vein he feels alive, the magic is awake. He can't put his finger on it, but something… something is afoot.

His mind is so consumed in the dance that he jolts when his back came in full contact with another person. They hit hard, sending Stiles tripping forward into Isaac who rights him with a steady hand. The witch turns, the world teetering on edge to meet a wily brunette much closer to his face than he expected. "Cora?" he stammers, and there is a wild fire lit behind her eyes.

"Mind if I steal him," she asks, though it is directed at the two wolves by his side and not at Stiles himself. Trailing his gaze backward he sees that crooked smile Scott is trying to hide.

Scott nods "I guess," and to give him credit he is trying to hide the excited edge in his voice, but Stiles knows him too well "Just make sure we get him back in one piece."

By then Cora already has him by the hand and is dragging him deeper into the crowd. Tossing her hair off her shoulder she calls back "I'm not making any promises." The buzz is starting to fade as the oddity of the situation grows more obvious. He doesn't have time to take stock into though, and his head is still spinning when Cora side steps, pushing Stiles past her into a tall dark figure in front of her.

Stiles stands there facing Derek, no longer dancing, not moving at all, and if he is being honest Derek looks as surprised as he himself feels. Their eyes lock. It feels like a gravitational pull. Maybe he should walk away, that would be smart, but tonight something has snapped. Maybe it's the alcohol or the energy swirling in the air around him but he feels completely and utterly reckless. Besides he doesn't have the strength to fight this, not in his state. He can't really decide if it's a choice to fight it any way. The rug has been pulled from underneath him. He is vaguely aware of his own voice "Will you dance with me?" His cheeks flush bright instantly, because really? Did he just say that? Still he is thankful for the strength in his tone.

The kiss, the one beautiful stolen kiss he had allowed himself, keeps replying in his mind. Derek's lips and their liquid velvet curve. The way the stubble brings his cheek and mouth to ache with a dull burn. Air hitches in the back of his throat as the wolf's hand finds his waist, drawing him in. The energy and heat of the crowd pours around them and yet he feels as if the two of them are the only two people in the room, even the whole world. This is so dangerous, but he can't stop how much he likes it.

Derek hands on his hips add to the clouded state of his brain, it has his better judgment flying out the window. "I'm not really great at this," he stammers. Still, Derek is a man of few words. His fingers caught in the curve of Stiles' down turned chin. The witch didn't fight the pull to look at him. Piercing green eyes look down at him, and Stiles finds himself wondering if they will stay that way or shift to the beautiful blue of his wolf. For now though, they are utterly human and rich with adoration.

Then, without a word edgewise, they are colliding with the force of a planetary impact and there's nothing either of them can do to stop it. For once Stiles doesn't want to, he isn't clawing at the walls trying to find a foot hold. His earlier mantra is no longer necessary. Not one single fragment of his self is fighting the pull. It isn't wise, some part of him still knows that, but he can't find the will to care. Not when he is curled in Derek's arms.

Derek breaks the kiss, sliding his lips down Stiles' throat, and groans into his neck. It's this soft broken noise. It sends a shiver down Stiles' spine. The knowledge that he is causing the wolf to come undone is almost too much for him to handle.

The rest of the world simply melts away. The witch is no longer looking for absolution -at least not right now-, all he wants is the promise of a future, one that he has never allowed himself to imagine. Hope is resounding and fills him with a kind of glow he had forgot existed. His eyes glance to Derek's lips, and he is lost in them. Still he fights the impulse, if only temporarily "Should we go … I don't know.. Somewhere else?" His throat is tight and burning, another kiss is all it will take to send him over the edge.

His heart beats double time, triple. There is nothing left for him to hold onto, nothing left to stop him. The nagging in the back of his mind has all but silenced. It's hard to think. Honestly, he is finding it hard to take in whole breaths, and still he feels a kind of fullness. A thumb lazily brushed against his jawline, watching for the reaction it might cause, eager to know the effect it has. Stiles had known Derek would be trouble, he just didn't know it would be like this.

— —

Derek's really not sure how they got back here. The confused heart ache from watching Stiles walk out the door hardly twenty four hours ago is still haunting his mind. He doesn't want more pain, but he does want Stiles. Their hands have hardly been off each other since they came together on the dance floor. He can't explain it, and right now he doesn't want to.

Skin to skin. It's enough to light his senses on fire. What was once candle light is now a raging inferno. It's all he can do to limit himself to just the ragged breaths that keep slipping through slightly parted lips. Each holds longing, anticipation. It's hard to fight the feelings, the urges, when it's this hard just to breath. Simply enough he is done fighting, and done being afraid. For once he wants someone that won't betray him, or leave him. If Stiles breaks him too… he can't think about that though, not now. With just a little time, this could become so much. They are just steps away from a love they both need. Nothing in Derek's life had ever felt so real, so right. Nothing sent his heart and mind racing quite like this, like Stiles. The way he moves, the way he breathes, the way Derek could map out the whole world in the constellation of his moles.

They are through the door, and Derek is wrapped around him yet again. The witch's body responds instantly, arching into him and whimpering softly "De-der-derek."

His name. That's the key, it probably always will be, the sound of it on Stiles' lips is more than he can handle. His hand snakes around to the back of Stiles' head and pulls him the rest of the way to his lips. The space was too much anyway. He is as taken as he was by the first. The potency isn't lost. So much for holding back, even a little, not that he thought he was going to in the first place. All Derek wants now is for their mouths to never part. This time it is more feverish. He can't stop the way his fingers coil around the hem of the thin jacket. Even in the cold air he can feel the prickle of his skin growing too warm. It should be uncomfortable but it isn't. His throat aches, and all he can manage is a longing for more.

He realizes that in finding Stiles he has found a piece of himself. One that he hadn't known about, or thought was lost, but now fits snuggly in place. He sees the gapping hole that had once been where the little witch is now. For a long time, Derek had been lost, and though he had known it, he was still waiting. Waiting to live? Perhaps. Waiting to die? Also a possibility. But mostly he was just waiting to not be waiting any more. The fear of an unknown future, one he had truly thought he would be alone in, and the plague brought by memories of a few moments that had ruined his life, was all there was for him. The present had been one chain of days connected to the next through monotonous events he could take or leave.

At some point he started trusting in his wolf side more than his human, because there was just more had always felt a distant pull to something else. He knew now that was Stiles, and this, what ever it was that they had, no matter how new, was the moment everything inside him clicked. Drunk or not the realization was powerful, world shaking, and Derek knew he would never be the same. Maybe now there would be someone to finally accept him for the whole he is, and make the all too often angry wolf a little better for it.

Reluctantly he pulls back from the kiss catching his breath, and holding a longing look for a few seconds. He takes Stiles' hand in his and turns the boy around, resting his mouth in the crook of his neck. Quivering lips open almost timidly, but as soon as he breaths in, tasting Stiles on his tongue, it's enough to smother any second thoughts. He buries his nose into the thick of it, breathing him in deeper, and huffing out his own scent on to Stiles. Each is hot, the burn pushing against his lips and nose. The chill in the small room makes him pull Stiles a little closer for a moment, and then a lot closer.

Pressing himself flush to the younger boy. Holding him in his arms, it's hard to hold back. He can't remind himself why he wanted to. Fingers catch in the hollow of his hips, pulling Stiles backward. His other hand is on the lowest point of his thigh, closer to his knee than currently more tempting areas. The fabric is easy to gather in his fist, as greedy hands long for more. He pulls back just briefly licking his dry lips before leaning forward, placing nibbling kisses all along Stiles' jaw. He knows enough to be careful, but he is no less demanding in his need for the witch. "I want you," he whispers, actually whines, before he can stop himself. He says into one of the hungry kisses and can't stop after it's been uttered. He means it too, in every way he can mean it. He wants to be everything that Stiles will ever need, because he can't see a world outside of holding him in his arms.

Stiles arches, pressing his ass into Derek's groin. "Then what are you waiting for?" Everything has been lit aflame, and he is happy to live in the pyre. Ironic really how much he enjoys the burning. Nothing else will ever be enough, no other wolf he lures to his bed will compare to this, and he doesn't even feel the calling to it any longer. All he wants, is the pale skin and fragile bone of the human in his arms.

Every moan sends a shaking jolt through his body. It encourages him, spurs him forward. He can hear low grunts, and knows they must be his own. Everything outside of the places Stiles is making contact, which is admittedly most of him, is hazy like it exists in some other time and place. He is determined if nothing else, each kiss he's gaging, adding slight flicks of his tongue, seeing which elucidates the strongest reactions. Every one is a test, longing to find the easiest ways to drive his lover to the edge.

Finger tips catch his chin, turning him just slightly so they are face to face even if it's at an odd angle. Arching his back he brings them into another kiss. Open lips consume, and it's needy, he knows it, almost desperate. Still he doesn't stop himself. The taste on his lips is as alluring as his smell, drawing the wolf in closer, ever longing for more even in the heat of it. "Just you," Derek mumbles into his mouth. The hand leaves his thigh and cups Stiles cheek. A gentle thumb runs along his cheek bone, fingers catch in the pit behind his jaw. It's more than desire, and that reads undeniably in hazy eyes that take him in as they come up for air once more.

The back of his throat is dry. He can feel each labored breath that comes through. There is no hope for him, because nothing will save him from this fall. It's too late, but he isn't scared. Vulnerable for the first time in a long time, and the way Stiles calls for him, with no words at all, makes it okay. It still doesn't stop the way he's shaking. It's a quick shiver, but so obviously not brought on by the cold. Stiles is causing this effect on him. Somehow he is weaker and stronger at the same time, like the world is at his feet, but he is worshiping at the witch's alter. He can hear a voice, it's too low, deep. Is it his own?

One name has echoed through his mind for days, and he can hear it in the air now, feel the vibration of it in his throat "Stiles." 'He is yours,' "Stiles." 'You are his,' "Stiles." 'This is all that matters.' Each grows more labored than the last, each said into another thick kiss, a hand still urging his face closer. It's the sound of his voice for sure "Stay," His throat closes before he can get out the rest, 'don't leave me'.

He isn't sure when it happened but he is unraveling, and not slowly. The beat of his heart is heavy against his chest, and he doesn't remember ever feeling this beside himself, especially not from so little. Then he can't really say this is 'so little' because somehow it's everything. Reaching out he can feel shaking fingers curl around Stiles short hair.

Stiles is learning too quickly how to move, what to say that brings the wolf in closer. It's second nature, or perhaps raw instinct. He calls out again "Derek… Derek please," he tries to twist himself, clutching the small of the wolf's back. Derek moves to meet him. His mouth pulls from Stiles as his neck arches. A low almost purring howl curls from his lips. The hand once on Stiles' cheek finds a home at his abdomen. It's stable but works as leverage to bring him closer. He can feel a tightly coiled tension taking over his whole being.

His mouth is on Stiles' neck again. Teeth press into the kiss, it's a bite though not a hard one, and is accompanied by a searching tongue. The whole of the buzz has burned off in his wolfish lust, a fact he is too grateful for. No human could find this sobering, but to a wolf their mate trumps all. He is lost in nothing but the kisses he presses into the slack of Stiles' mouth, the way he feels their bodies collide, and the unending desire.

His body brushes against a wall he hadn't known they were so close to, and he finds himself turning Stiles to face him, press his more tender body into the solid surface and crashing into him. The dry wall gives under the pressure of Derek's too strong hand before he goes back to searching, fingers undo the buttons of the jacket and it's quickly discarded to the ground. He grips a handful of the thin shirt in his fist as his mouth goes for throat. "You're going to have to make me stop," he says in between a soft mix of kisses and licks.

Fear that he might not make it out of this night alive is a little too real. He can feel himself saying goodbye to his heart, to everything he had held fast to. Still he doesn't want to stop it. A world of future memories play out, unbidden but not wholly unwanted. Places where they are happy, where they are each others strength, and where they protect one another.

"No" There is a raw panic in Stiles' voice "Don't you dare. Don't you dare stop!" He paws desperately at Derek's shirt. "Off… now!" His hands slide under the tail of Derek's shirt. Removing his hands from Stiles just long enough to complete the action he tosses the shirt to the side. The more that is exposed, the harder to keep himself from letting his skin meet his lover's.

As Derek leans back down, pressing wet kisses into the side of Stiles' neck he turns his head, like a Beta showing submission. Derek can't help but see it that way, because whether or not Stiles knows it, that is exactly what it is. It's a vulnerability he will indulge in but never take advantage of. Before long he isn't thinking about what he shouldn't be doing, be thinking, and he is just acting on it.

His tongue leaves a wet trail from the dip just below his Adam's apple up to his jaw. Teeth glide across thin skin, low moans escape through the wolf's open mouth. The close space smells of them both, palpable and all around him. Derek can smell not just their personal scents and the mixing of them, a field of flowers surrounded by an encroaching wood, moss laden and damp from a spring rain, but also desire. His own is heavy and Stiles' alluring. It brings out a spice like quality in each, and below it is something unexpected and unmistakable. Heat thick with what can only be described as salt air. Though he should expect this other layer it's surprising in the most heart-stopping-ly wonderful way. It comes from them both, and it's something he knows quite well though not in this capacity. Arousal. He can feel the reaction of the realization. It takes the original sensation and magnifies it ten fold. Heart beat can be felt in his throat, and he can feel a growing pressure in his gut. Anticipation, anxiety, neither hold him.

He reaches down grabbing Stiles' hand and placing it over his bare chest. Derek presses the flat of his mate's palm over his heart. He might not have the words to say, but he wants Stiles to know the way he is effecting him. Fingers wrap around his pale wrist holding his hand in place. It is a gentle hold, but a persistent one. Derek puts his lips up to Stiles, but doesn't bring them together. Instead he looks down taking in all of the young man's features. Lips parted, and flushed with pink. He can see the effect of their kisses, how the blood has flown to him. Each observation causes a jolt in his heart beat, and when he finally draws into another kiss all calm is lost. He can feel it hammering against his chest as though it might escape. It's something that can't be controlled or faked and he wants his too human lover to feel it, know a taste of what Derek is feeling and can't say out loud.

Derek watches, waiting and finally he sees the realization painted on his face. The witch reaches up, hold Derek's face in his free palm. "For me?" he asks breathlessly. Derek nods. In his body it feels like a storm brewing, waiting for the most opportune time to tear wide open. Thunder, bottled lightning cracks ripples over his skin, and drives the shaking to a crescendo. He is twisted deep into his witch's spell. There is no hope of escape, and no longing to even try. He trembles under his touch, brushing lightly against his cheek. There is no question, the circuits alive and wired, in how he feels. There is more than longing, it's need raw and real. He can feel how he raises to meet the boy's every move, matching magnets, gravitational pull, a force of nature far outside of his control. Slipping, and there is nothing he even tries to do to stop it.

Small breaths catch in his chest causing it to heave slightly, but he doesn't remove his hold. "Just you," he replies. He lets a free hand trail down his lover. The hand stops again in his inner thigh, firm but not aggressive. He lingers there, heart racing fast enough to power the whole of Beacon Hills for a month… a year.

Eventually he pulls back and looks into warm eyes. His own are alive and he just smiles, a real uninhibited smile. He's been running for so long, it's a relief to stop, or rather to run to something instead of away from it. The world must still be spinning but he wouldn't know it. Never again will he not be someone's and Stiles is his everything settled into a physical form.

Hope is his sword in this fight, and Stiles is worth what ever it takes to win. He finally has that, hope, and it only takes one true believer to believe that they can beat the odds, to make victory something more than the stuff of fairy tales. They are meant to be together, and love is enough. Love, that's what it is, and there is no denying it now. Maybe it's the constant fighting against his feelings that made it crash down on him so fast, or maybe it's just Stiles and it wouldn't have mattered what he did, nothing would have been enough to stop such a feeling from taking over. It feels right, inexplicably right, knowing that his fate is tied irrevocably to his witch's.

Steeped in nervousness that he does his best to hold inside he pulls the tail of Stiles shirt up and runs his hands underneath the fabric. The contrast of soft skin on his rough hands lights his senses on fire. This effectively exposes the tender flesh of his stomach to the cold air. It's quickly covered with the contact of skin to skin as Derek pushes himself closer.

His breathing becomes erratic holding onto Stiles' sides, drawing the the smell once more, dusting kisses into his collar bone and breathing out in heavy huffs. Stiles will be covered in Derek's scent for a long time, and if Derek has his way it will never get the chance to wear off. He leans down undoing the buttons of his shirt from the top and kissing the flesh as it's exposed. He draws his mouth down the length of his abs and stops as the shirt falls open. Lips just over his mate's navel he looks up to meet his eyes and smirks. The red cotton slips from his shoulder and catches in the bend of his arm. His hands are flat on his abdomen and creep back up toward his shoulders.

As he stands Derek lifts Stiles farther up the wall, feeling his legs fall on either side of his own. Their bare chests flush to one another. Large hands wrap around his ribs on the left and his upper thigh on the right, pulling him ever closer as though they might fuse in to one being. At this level, they are eye to eye.

Again his lips hover almost touching, but this time Stiles will have to work for it, show Derek what he wants. His mouth is eager, longing, but he doesn't move. That doesn't mean Derek won't make the choice an easy one. He arches his hips, drive Stiles a little farther up the wall. They sink together, Derek fitting into the curve where Stiles' leg met his body. Everything grows more stiff by the second, and digs a little deeper at tender skin.

The closeness, stirs him with an intensity he isn't use to or truly prepared for. Lips lingering, and heat pressed together. Each breath he draws in is staggered and takes a great deal of effort to make it to his lungs. They hardly fill, dazing in the most intoxicating way. It takes hardly any touch at all for Stiles to have an effect on him. He can feel the length of Stiles against him, and it only serves to make him more hard. He grinds his hips to his partner's.

The noise he makes is somewhere in between a grunt and a moan, low, deep, and not quite under his breath. Desire and need run rampant through him, and he wonders how he will ever recover from something so consuming. Insatiable, really that's the only way to describe it. He likes the way he can't focus, all that is on his mind is the sounds of Stiles' voice, the way the moans are made for him and him alone, and a still near paralyzing fear that the connection he thinks he feels is all in his head, that Stiles will reject him, leaving him alone once again.

It pushes him forward, an urge to prove he is worth the trouble, a longing to hear him say 'I want to be with you too' and if the bottom drops that they will catch each other, someone to hold him, force him to actually smile the way he hasn't in years. Just a smile on Stiles' face is enough to pull it out, even the urge to smile just to see the action returned, to know he is the cause of it. He will be there thick and thin; love, pain, and fear, it doesn't matter.

Watching Stiles take him in is a novel thing. No one else took the time to indulge in such honey brown eyes gliding over his features hungrily. Before it had been all action with some ulterior motive in mind. It takes everything he has to hold off, to let Stiles come to him.

He doesn't talk, doesn't say anything as he waits, but his mind is flooded with a million processes. He memorizes the curve of his lips, the placement of each mole, each color in the flecks of his eyes, no detail is too much. For so long he had felt like he had nothing to lose, and now he fears everything being taken from him.

The flush in Stiles' cheeks draws light fingers to brush his pink skin, trail them down his chest where the color continues. He can feel it in his skin, in his bones. The whole of him is lost, dropped in the middle of the sea of Stiles. There is no desire to be rescued, it feels good just to feel. Salt water sting that makes his skin feel alive.

Softy, slowly Stiles finds the kiss. Tender draws of his lips, call Derek closer, nesting his hands in the small of the boy's back. A timid tongue seeks entrance, and who is he to say no, to deny either of them that simple pleasure. He can feel how it rushes around him like high tide. A whimper escapes into his parted lips, and with it his hands grip tighter. Derek curls into him as their tongues meet, encouraging. Hands at his neck pull them together, and his body curves inward, involuntarily. This is the only truth he knows, and instead of tucking tail, he runs to Stiles.

When Stiles pulls back all Derek can do while his brain catches up is watch him. The way he licks his lips doesn't make getting his mind back to a functioning place any easier. It's as though he is unaware of how much he uses it, or how it effects the wolf before him. The way it darts through parted lips, makes Derek's toes curl, desire floods his brain. There is the notion to draw him closer again, but a voice breaks the train of thought. "I want you too," he all but whispers.

They are words the wolf has longed to hear for the better part of a decade. His heart lurches forward and his face draws tight with pained affection. A chill wind nips at his bare back, but he is fine. Still he lets strong arms draw around Stiles a little tighter. In Derek's mind, the boy is his to keep warm. He can't fall apart, there might now be someone else that it would effect. It is about so much more than the physical or what they can offer each other in the material world. They are pieces of the same whole made better simply by the presence of the other.

Falling hard and fast, in a way that could leave him completely black and blue. As long as Stiles doesn't let him go, it will be fine. He rubs the thick of his jaw against the warmth of his lover's neck, nuzzling. Derek has little knowledge of human tenderness, there has never really been a need, and what is and isn't normal outside of the obvious 'don't have a wolf face'. He is trying but there are things that don't translate, things his human lover will find out over time that make the process so very different from anything he might be familiar with on any level, but that means more than a simple kiss or holding someone's hand.

Again he trails kisses up his mate's neck, across his jaw. Hands run between their closely pressed bodies. Over his chest and stomach, slow like raking coals over an ember. Burning finger tips coil around the pit of his leg, feeling the heat of his lover's groin. He longs for the hands of time to never move again, to stay in this moment for the rest of his life. Yet somehow the clock had never been more alive. Derek finds himself wanting to be greedy, longing to be Stiles' first and last everything. He is too engulfed in all that they are, all that they could be. "…Can I touch you?" his voice is thick, deep, and almost sluggish. Still he feels tension, an anxiousness, twist in his gut as he waits for the answer. On some level he is preparing himself for one more rejection, among many, despite how close they are. His throat is dry, rough and tight with each breath.

— —

The is a soft gasp that fills the air. Wide eyed Stiles nods, each passing brings the motion more vigorous "Yes," he croaks out. In an instant, Derek shifts their weight rolling Stiles upward so that his legs wrap around his own back. In two wide steps he brings them crashing onto the bed. A breathy laugh escapes Stiles' lips as he arches upward, close to Derek as if he too can not get enough. He squirms, quickly discarding the last of his clothes before going for Derek's. He is desperate for the wolf to fulfill the action of his request. Yet his heart is racing.

The heat of Derek's body engulfs him as the wolf presses their naked bodies together. The soft flesh of their erections brushing and rubbing against each other is nearly too much. Stiles whimpers "Please. I can't-," his breath hitches "It can't wait any longer." Derek retreats, and for a moment Stiles worries he has opened his mouth only to insert his foot, but Derek is back with in-human speed pushing his legs up to his chest.

The witch flails ever so slightly in surprise of the quick response to his plea, but certainly doesn't protest. Fingers press against his tight entrance, and his body recoils. Derek leans forward, licking a trail up the spine of his ear "Relax," he whispers. Instantly, Stiles feels himself melt into the bed. Just as quickly the fingers are replaced by something much larger. He breaths in quick, tensing for a moment. It's been too long, and his body, aroused or not, struggles to adapt.

Derek brushes fingers through his hair, kissing over his chest, waiting for Stiles' breathing to even out. "Are you okay?" he asks with wolfish blue eyes cutting through the darkness. Stiles manages a few more shaking breaths before he nods. At that Derek finds leverage in his grip, wrapping strong fingers around his waist. Arching his back, Stiles is ready this time.

Slowly they find a rhythm, rocking into each other. A low heat pools in Stiles' gut. All the apprehension he has felt since the curse destroyed his world falls away. Magic can not have Derek, this is his. He breathes heavily. Nothing can take his wolf away, not while Stiles still stands.

The sheets twist around their legs and they tangle closer together. Naked bodies pressed flush. Stiles rolls, momentarily overpowering Derek, and straddles the wolf. He gazes down, before his victory is lost. Bucking up, Derek flips him, clutching the edge of the bed. The action causes a shift, suddenly everything is more desperate. It feels like someone has connected a live wire to Stiles' brain. For once in his life, he is at a loss for words. All he can do is clumsily grope at the wolf as his body pumps into him.

In the moment he feels himself surge, more potent than any magic he has ever felt, Derek slumps forward, wrapping himself fully around Stiles. Neither dares to move as the climax overtakes them both. Almost timidly, Derek nuzzles into Stiles neck, and acts for the briefest moment as though he might move away, but Stiles locks his legs around his back, holding them together.

They roll over, tied together like that, and Stiles curls into Derek's chest. He isn't ready for the moment to end for he doesn't know what reality might hold when it does.


End file.
